01-20-2018, 05:21 PM
The last time she had set foot in Tar Valon, it had ended with her heart shattered to pieces and a disgraced escort to Yelendrian’s office. The memories curled about her thoughts like mist; how eagerly she had descended the ivory steps from the Tower, cheeks flushed with anticipation. Ignorant. Stupid. There was no such keenness today, only business-like resolution. The sooner this was over with the better. The organisation alone had taken far more time than she would have liked, especially balanced against her new duties as an aspirant. And it annoyed her, the repressive obligation she felt to offer protection to the family she had rejected – moreso when that protection was so limited in its scope. As if an ill-conceived confession could have such repercussions. Would Jai be pleased to know how his actions had avalanched the collapse of five years of silence? Probably not, if he had any clue what a grim cast it lay on her thoughts.
Such a pity these things had to be authorised in the flesh, or the light knew she would not have come at all. The appointment had been made ahead of time, and Nythadri had ensured she would be the last to arrive. It would solve the matter of an awkward family reunion; not that she expected a scene, but the fewer opportunities for awkward small talk the better. She would help her family, but it did not mean she relished interacting with them. And it was certainly not to be misconstrued as invitation to build bridges burned long ago.
Only when she entered the bank’s immaculate foyer and was led to the door of the appropriate office, Mishael waited outside. Her stride did not falter its rhythmic click against the floor tiles, though her expression tightened with displeasure. His own did not flicker; but then, he was already frowning. Nythadri had inherited her looks from her father, that unsettling mix of pale and dark. He was more gaunt than he had been five years ago, and lines that did not stem from easy laughter creased his eyes. More silver lined his temple, and shot through his neatly trimmed beard. For a man who had brought his House to near ruin, he had the bearing of steel. Perhaps another thing she had inherited. She went to move past him. His hand beat hers to the door handle, and locked it in place. “Are you involved in this, Nythadri?”
Her hand retracted before their skin met, jaw tight. The pendant. He had never mentioned it in any of their recent correspondence, and it occurred to her that he had been waiting to confront her in person. Her eyes flicked up to meet his. She could read the uncertainty in his expression; pain coiled like a wire round his heart. Did he ever blame me? For what happened? Or perhaps he resented how the mud of their pasts again clouded what had been calm waters, and once more his wayward daughter appeared to be at the heart of it. “If this was down to me, we would not be here. I would have had all the money safely secured in my own name in the first place, until the scandal died down. And I wouldn’t have waited so long to settle the score. Father.”
Five years, and no sentimentality on either side. She remembered how she had left things the day Karina Sedai had removed her from Caemlyn; remembered every jagged edge to their relationship. How easy it was to slip into old, abrasive roles. Only what purpose did it serve now? A sigh inflated her lungs, but she refrained from releasing it to sound like insolence. “I do not know for certain where the coin came from. I can only guess it once belonged to Winther. Even if it didn’t – and I can’t see an alternative – it hardly looks good with your names as the payees. If he, or anyone else, were to dig and find an account against my name, they will also find the White Tower. It’s the best protection I can offer. You can say no.”
Her words were low; Mishael would never notice the glow of saidar that lit her from the inside out, or the ward against eavesdropping that cast a protective net about them.
Either way he did not answer, only twisted the handle and held the door open for her.
Within the richly decorated office, already seated at the long table, were her sisters. For a moment Em looked as though she might rush to hug Nythadri; she half rose from her seat, face alight with the biggest of smiles, but Oshara stilled the movement with a hand on her wrist and she sank back down, a blush warming her round cheeks. They had been children the last time Nythadri had seen them; eleven and fourteen respectively. Emria retained a soft youthfulness to her features, and gentleness reminiscent of their mother. Not so different. Oshara was now a woman grown, though. And she wouldn’t meet Nythadri’s eyes.
At the head of the table, flanked by neat stacks of paperwork, the notary lifted his head. “Shall we proceed?”
Relieved at the brusque, no nonsense manner, Nythadri took her seat. Opposite her sisters. Opposite her father. An ornately wrought jug of water marked the half-way distance between them, but no-one had touched it nor the glasses clustered around its base. So they're all as uncomfortable as each other. It might have been kinder to defrost the tension; act the sister she had always been and poke gentle fun at the situation. They saw an Accepted. She could show them a person still existed beneath all that white. But she wouldn't. What would be the point? She finally caught Shara's gaze; but eyes of deepest blue froze over on contact. The animosity was startling; though, unperturbed by the challenge, it wasn't Nythadri who looked away first. Oshara's fists had curled in frustration; she removed them from the table, and pointed her gaze resolutely at the waiting paperwork instead.
Nythadri gestured her father to make the affirmative. She had meant what she said: this was his choice.
*
Afterwards, once the final signatures had been inked, Mishael was the first to stand. The pierce of his eyes caught her own, like he tried to unravel her from her Accepted shackles; to find some hint of the familiar beneath the porcelain cast of her empty expression. Nythadri’s white-sleeved arms were folded tidily on the table. The serpent ring glittered prominently on her finger; like she really were nothing more than an extension of the Tower, providing an impartial service to people in need. But she needn’t have feared. There were no saccharine goodbyes.
Mishael helped his two daughters into their cloaks, as the notary packed his things away. Nythadri watched. She felt so removed. “I’ll keep my ear to the currents in Caemlyn.”
Though it would take time to start a network from scratch. Light, I can’t believe I’m doing this. Too late to back away anyway, now that things had been set in motion. "I'll be in touch. You don't need to contact me."
And in the meantime think about how you’re going to explain all that money once things have blown over.
She was glad when they had gone. A sigh left her lungs like fallen armour, and if she had been alone she might have succumbed to the urge to bury her head in her arms to seek a moment’s respite. How long since her last restful night? Now she either dreamed of Winther’s smug face or faces bloodied beyond recognition. Guilt that had buried deep and dormant for years flourished fresh like flowers after winter. The need to make loose ends neat. She hated the mess, like inkblots spilled on crisp paper. Still, she had become good at convincing herself to feel nothing.
As it what she merely stood, nodded a formal thanks to the notary, and left. Outside, she caught Em’s face in the window of the carriage as it slid past, a sad smile tilting the edges of her lips and her fingers fluttering a goodbye. Nythadri did not smile back.
*
Less than an hour later she sat in another office in another building, with more paperwork and another bank clerk. The tension from earlier had knotted in her back. Her neck throbbed dully. A headache built behind her eyes. She’d worked through worse though; she’d endured worse. I’m doing all I can do. So why didn’t it feel like enough? Beyond the narrow path to the goal she had set herself lay a dark rush of confused and unanalysed thought. Purposefully unanalysed. Why worry about the things she could not control? Could not change? That was good judgement, but accepting impotency did not seem to help. Which was probably why, of all the banks in Tar Valon, she had chosen the Kojimas.
Upon completion of the paperwork, the clerk told her that the account would need managerial approval - owing to the sheer quantity of coin to be deposited. Obviously, was her only, scathing answer, accompanied by a dismissive wave that the man should hurry along with whatever procedure was necessary.
Such a pity these things had to be authorised in the flesh, or the light knew she would not have come at all. The appointment had been made ahead of time, and Nythadri had ensured she would be the last to arrive. It would solve the matter of an awkward family reunion; not that she expected a scene, but the fewer opportunities for awkward small talk the better. She would help her family, but it did not mean she relished interacting with them. And it was certainly not to be misconstrued as invitation to build bridges burned long ago.
Only when she entered the bank’s immaculate foyer and was led to the door of the appropriate office, Mishael waited outside. Her stride did not falter its rhythmic click against the floor tiles, though her expression tightened with displeasure. His own did not flicker; but then, he was already frowning. Nythadri had inherited her looks from her father, that unsettling mix of pale and dark. He was more gaunt than he had been five years ago, and lines that did not stem from easy laughter creased his eyes. More silver lined his temple, and shot through his neatly trimmed beard. For a man who had brought his House to near ruin, he had the bearing of steel. Perhaps another thing she had inherited. She went to move past him. His hand beat hers to the door handle, and locked it in place. “Are you involved in this, Nythadri?”
Her hand retracted before their skin met, jaw tight. The pendant. He had never mentioned it in any of their recent correspondence, and it occurred to her that he had been waiting to confront her in person. Her eyes flicked up to meet his. She could read the uncertainty in his expression; pain coiled like a wire round his heart. Did he ever blame me? For what happened? Or perhaps he resented how the mud of their pasts again clouded what had been calm waters, and once more his wayward daughter appeared to be at the heart of it. “If this was down to me, we would not be here. I would have had all the money safely secured in my own name in the first place, until the scandal died down. And I wouldn’t have waited so long to settle the score. Father.”
Five years, and no sentimentality on either side. She remembered how she had left things the day Karina Sedai had removed her from Caemlyn; remembered every jagged edge to their relationship. How easy it was to slip into old, abrasive roles. Only what purpose did it serve now? A sigh inflated her lungs, but she refrained from releasing it to sound like insolence. “I do not know for certain where the coin came from. I can only guess it once belonged to Winther. Even if it didn’t – and I can’t see an alternative – it hardly looks good with your names as the payees. If he, or anyone else, were to dig and find an account against my name, they will also find the White Tower. It’s the best protection I can offer. You can say no.”
Her words were low; Mishael would never notice the glow of saidar that lit her from the inside out, or the ward against eavesdropping that cast a protective net about them.
Either way he did not answer, only twisted the handle and held the door open for her.
Within the richly decorated office, already seated at the long table, were her sisters. For a moment Em looked as though she might rush to hug Nythadri; she half rose from her seat, face alight with the biggest of smiles, but Oshara stilled the movement with a hand on her wrist and she sank back down, a blush warming her round cheeks. They had been children the last time Nythadri had seen them; eleven and fourteen respectively. Emria retained a soft youthfulness to her features, and gentleness reminiscent of their mother. Not so different. Oshara was now a woman grown, though. And she wouldn’t meet Nythadri’s eyes.
At the head of the table, flanked by neat stacks of paperwork, the notary lifted his head. “Shall we proceed?”
Relieved at the brusque, no nonsense manner, Nythadri took her seat. Opposite her sisters. Opposite her father. An ornately wrought jug of water marked the half-way distance between them, but no-one had touched it nor the glasses clustered around its base. So they're all as uncomfortable as each other. It might have been kinder to defrost the tension; act the sister she had always been and poke gentle fun at the situation. They saw an Accepted. She could show them a person still existed beneath all that white. But she wouldn't. What would be the point? She finally caught Shara's gaze; but eyes of deepest blue froze over on contact. The animosity was startling; though, unperturbed by the challenge, it wasn't Nythadri who looked away first. Oshara's fists had curled in frustration; she removed them from the table, and pointed her gaze resolutely at the waiting paperwork instead.
Nythadri gestured her father to make the affirmative. She had meant what she said: this was his choice.
*
Afterwards, once the final signatures had been inked, Mishael was the first to stand. The pierce of his eyes caught her own, like he tried to unravel her from her Accepted shackles; to find some hint of the familiar beneath the porcelain cast of her empty expression. Nythadri’s white-sleeved arms were folded tidily on the table. The serpent ring glittered prominently on her finger; like she really were nothing more than an extension of the Tower, providing an impartial service to people in need. But she needn’t have feared. There were no saccharine goodbyes.
Mishael helped his two daughters into their cloaks, as the notary packed his things away. Nythadri watched. She felt so removed. “I’ll keep my ear to the currents in Caemlyn.”
Though it would take time to start a network from scratch. Light, I can’t believe I’m doing this. Too late to back away anyway, now that things had been set in motion. "I'll be in touch. You don't need to contact me."
And in the meantime think about how you’re going to explain all that money once things have blown over.
She was glad when they had gone. A sigh left her lungs like fallen armour, and if she had been alone she might have succumbed to the urge to bury her head in her arms to seek a moment’s respite. How long since her last restful night? Now she either dreamed of Winther’s smug face or faces bloodied beyond recognition. Guilt that had buried deep and dormant for years flourished fresh like flowers after winter. The need to make loose ends neat. She hated the mess, like inkblots spilled on crisp paper. Still, she had become good at convincing herself to feel nothing.
As it what she merely stood, nodded a formal thanks to the notary, and left. Outside, she caught Em’s face in the window of the carriage as it slid past, a sad smile tilting the edges of her lips and her fingers fluttering a goodbye. Nythadri did not smile back.
*
Less than an hour later she sat in another office in another building, with more paperwork and another bank clerk. The tension from earlier had knotted in her back. Her neck throbbed dully. A headache built behind her eyes. She’d worked through worse though; she’d endured worse. I’m doing all I can do. So why didn’t it feel like enough? Beyond the narrow path to the goal she had set herself lay a dark rush of confused and unanalysed thought. Purposefully unanalysed. Why worry about the things she could not control? Could not change? That was good judgement, but accepting impotency did not seem to help. Which was probably why, of all the banks in Tar Valon, she had chosen the Kojimas.
Upon completion of the paperwork, the clerk told her that the account would need managerial approval - owing to the sheer quantity of coin to be deposited. Obviously, was her only, scathing answer, accompanied by a dismissive wave that the man should hurry along with whatever procedure was necessary.